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They weren’t getting anywhere with these vague hints at what despicable thing had happened at that party. “Why am I supposed to care?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” She ran her hands over her face. “You could’ve tried harder to stop me. I made a fool of myself, and you just–just left me there, all alone to face Lacy.”
His heart wrung at her stricken, lost look. He wanted to punch Nash for making her feel that way, but another part of him wondered how Nash did it—his twin had brought out a lot of emotion in this woman, who seemed like she’d be untouchable, otherwise. Porter had never been able to connect with the ladies like Nash. He’d always been so lost in small talk because he bent over backwards to put his best foot forward and be exactly the opposite of who he was, so, of course, it never worked out. He’d only inspired limp, boring responses from women, not this passion, and definitely nothing so interesting.
Angel’s whole being radiated with energy. Her wildly waving hands took his breath away.
“I’ve never been more embarrassed,” she said. “Well… you know what? The more I think about it, I’m guessing that fire was you. Yeah! What are you, a pyromaniac?”
He snorted at that. Probably. He and Nash had managed to start more than their share of fires around here.
“Everyone was running to get out. It was pure chaos.” Strangely, the more she talked, the more relief he felt. Nash was up to his old tricks, but it didn’t sound like he’d changed that much. He must be driving West crazy. Their older brother probably would’ve sent his twin home by now if Nash hadn’t been doing such a good job of keeping Eva Trout distracted. If there was one thing Nash was good at, it was keeping women occupied.
“And then, guess whose purse I grabbed on my way out,” Angel said. “Not mine! Emily’s! And she still won’t answer my texts, so I can let her know. I think she lost her phone or something.”
This whole disaster between Nash and Angel sounded like the bad dates that he’d been forced to relive when Nash’s exes caught up to Porter demanding a shoulder to cry on, but there was nothing dark and sordid like he’d feared. His brother was still as mischievous as ever, though not corrupt.
Porter had been genuinely afraid that something awful was happening. By the sound of things, Nash’s worst crime was teasing Angel, and she was spiraling around like a sputtering firecracker because of it.
What else could he do to set her off?
Porter had two choices: make up for what Nash had done or pick up where his brother had left off. And in one reckless move, he’d decided on doing both. He plucked a yellow rose from a bush and handed it to the little spitfire. “I’m sorry, Angel. I’ll make it up to you.”
Her eyes widened, and he hid a laugh. Yeah, deciding to play along with this little mix-up definitely had something to do with those big brown eyes flashing at him like that. A good prank was always the perfect ice breaker, and he wanted to get into her head. They’d laugh about this later.
“How?” she asked suspiciously. Her fingers tightened on the rose.
“Let’s put everything behind us.”
She turned silent. He must’ve tempted her because she didn’t outright reject him; either that or he’d stumped her. He gave in to his laugh now.Welcome to the party!She turned his brain into mush most of the time, and that’s when shedidn’topen her mouth. It was worse when she did.
“How about I walk you to your car?” he asked. “Is that your rusty bucket of bolts parked next to mine?”
Her lips curled, though uncertainly. “Is that your monster truck?”
That had been Nash’s brainchild, though Porter hadn’t been against the idea, and still, he was pretending to be his twin now, so he answered in the affirmative. “Yeah, you jealous?”
“Just scared. Your truck could eat mine.”
Now that they’d called an uneasy truce—sorta—she seemed more agreeable to going along with his jokes, though as they left the rose garden and headed for their gravel driveway, he realized that there were some serious flaws to his plan. Someone at Harvest Ranch was bound to tell Angel that Porter had a twin staying in Nashville.
People talked in small towns. Angel would find out the truth soon enough. Instead of deterring him, it only inspired him to keep the gag going for as long as he could. Why not have a little fun until then? He wondered how she’d react when she figured it out?
A part of him couldn’t wait. The other part cringed with guilt. That was Porter’s downfall—he’d always had too much of a conscience to truly enjoy the pranks that he’d rushed into. Nash never had that problem, of course. It had been too long since they’d tried to switch places. Everyone here in Harvest Ranch knew them too well for it to work, but apparently Angel couldn’t tell the two dumb guys apart yet.
Porter caught sight of her rusted Cavalier as they approached. There were a few bumps in the side where it had seen previous fender benders. He tried to put the pieces of Angel together as he studied her vehicle. The windows in the back were down. She’d put cardboard into the one side, probably to prop it up at one point, and the other window had the remnants of duct tape. She definitely didn’t come from money—either that or she didn’t put her heart and soul into automobiles like Porter and Nash did.
No one did, really.
Either way, he’d love to get his hands on her car and fix a few things here and there. His eyes alighted on the one problem that couldn’t wait, and he gawked. Her tire was busted. “Did you drive it here like this? Your tire’s flat…”as a pancake.
Her jaw dropped, and she waved that yellow rose around. “Oh, no, no, no.”
He quickly switched to fix-it mode. “Where’s your spare?”
Worry clouded her expression, and she dropped the tough girl attitude and led him to the trunk, fumbling with her keys to get it open. As soon as she did, he rummaged through the back to find the trap door to the spare, only to locate the tiniest, flimsiest replacement that he’d ever seen. “That tiny donut?” he asked. “You don’t have anything more, uh… practical?”
“It came with it.” Her voice sounded small and unsure.
